


Kiss me once, then once more

by orphan_account



Category: Chenzel - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Idina goes looking for Kristin after an OTTC performance, seeking forgiveness, and wanting to start over. Chaos, heartbreak and, perhaps happiness ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strangers, Lovers, Friends

Idina lets her hair fall around her face as she pulls a woolly scarf up around her cheek bones, and begins scrolling through her email messages on her phone. Letting herself be manoeuvred by the crowd that was flowing into the American Airlines Theatre, she tried her best to keep her face well hidden. She settled into a seat in the middle of the theatre, where she could see the stage clearly, but not be seen. A strong compulsion to snap a picture of the show curtain and tweet it washed over her, and she giggled into her scarf at the thought of what that one tweet would elicit. And then, the curtain was drawn back, and the show unfolded. Two hours and thirty minutes later, when Lily Garland stepped out in a beautiful white gown to wave goodbye to the audience, Idina was still in a stupor. The audience around her that had been laughing from the start to finish had exploded into cheers and thundering applause, and yet there she was, just sitting, _staring._ It had been almost two years since she had last set eyes on her, and it almost felt like a dream - a blissful dream that came in a tiny, four foot eleven package, with blond hair and that delightful voice that still lifted the rafters of any theatre, after all these years. 

 

The house lights came on, shaking her out of her stupor, and she hurried towards where she knew the theatre’s dressing rooms would be, her heart pounding all the time. _Tonight,_ she told herself, _it would be tonight._ Unravelling the scarf as she approached security so that they would recognise her, she flashed a quick smile and darted into the corridors, finally finding the room she was seeking. Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist to knock, bit her lip, and then dropped it. _It’s now or never, Menzel, you’ll never get the courage to try this again._ She knocked. There was no response. Hesitating, she tried her knob of the door, which swung open easily. Kristin never locked her dressing room doors, and well, she had guessed that old habits died hard. Her dressing room still looked like it had in Wicked, except for the fact that there was less pink around. Two candy jars, filled to the brim, were perched at the top of a metal rack that Idina highly doubted Kristin could reach with ease. _Maybe that was the point,_ Idina thought, smirking slightly. She wandered over to the makeup table, which was still as messy as she remembered, with makeup scattered haphazardly around. She was just about to settle herself on the couch when she noticed the small row of pictures on the table, and bent down for a closer look. The first was of them at opening night, glittery and filled with the high that came from a successful opening. Kristin had her arm wrapped around Idina’s waist, and her head was thrown back slightly, her smile so brilliant it was almost blinding. Her eyes traveled along the row, and she saw Kristin’s same bright smile, with her arms wound around others at other premieres. _But her eyes are sadder,_ Idina thought, as she reached out her hand to touch the most recent photo taken at the opening of On the Twentieth Century, tracing the outlines of Kristin’s face, _sadder, and more knowing._ She heard a door being pushed open and swung around just in time to see Kristin emerging from the shower, ensconced in a pink fluffy bathrobe, with her blond hair up in bun. Then, Kristin caught sight of her and stopped in her tracks, her mouth forming a small O of surprise. They stood there, looking at each other for a few seconds, not saying a word. The tension thickened as each second ticked by. 

 

 _This is ridiculous,_ Idina sighed inwardly. They had been strangers, then acquaintances, then best friends, then lovers, then acquaintances again, but Idina refused to let it come full circle. They would not be strangers again. “Hi,” she ventured, softly, tenderly, breaking the silence pressing down upon their ears. Kristin broke into a smile that that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “You didn’t tell me you were coming! Give me a minute, I’m gonna get changed.” Kristin disappeared into the bathroom again with a bundle of clothes and came out wearing a pair of snug jeans, and a lovely light blue top that skimmed her shoulders. Idina crossed the room and enveloped Kristin in her arms. After a beat, Kristin’s arms too, came up and encircled Idina’s waist. Their bodies still fit perfectly into each other’s, as if they had never spent a day apart. Idina furiously blinked away the tears that filled her eyes, and melted into Kristin’s embrace. Kristin still smelt like strawberries, a scent so achingly sweet, a scent that sent her hurtling into the past, into fevered nights and lazy mornings and kisses in the warm shower. _I missed you,_ she wanted to say. _I want you, I need you, I never want to be without you, I love you._ But what came out of her mouth in a small choked voice instead was, “I loved the show.” Kristin pulled back, and Idina’s body protested immediately at the loss of contact. “Thank you,” Kristin smiled. A genuine smile, the kind that reached her eyes. But as soon as it came, it faded. They stood there for a while, before Kristin reached for Idina’s hand, pulling her onto the couch where Maddie was dozing contentedly. Kristin let go of Idina’s hand, but Idina clung on, bring her other hand and holding Kristin’s hand with both. Kristin’s eyes widened, and Idina drunk in their dizzying swirl of green and blue. _You could get lost in those eyes_ , she remembered saying to Kristin as they faced each other, nose to nose on the bed, and Kristin had giggled, before shifting a little and kissing Idina on the nose. “I should have brought flowers,” Idina blurts out, and then blushes. Kristin smiles again, slightly. “The real reason… the real reason I’m here is - ” The door to the dressing room swung open and Andy poked his head in. “Hey Cheno, Peter and I are stage dooring in a while. You coming - ” His words ground to a halt as he took in the situation. “Maybe not,” he muttered under his breath and gently closed the door. Idina looked at Kristin’s stunned expression, at those eyes, at those half parted lips, and caved. Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against Kristin’s, one hand reaching up automatically to cradle her jaw, and deepened the kiss. Idina came away, breathless. “I love you.” At last the confession rolled free from her tongue, “I love you, still.” Kristin stood. “I can’t - ,” Kristin’s voice hitched. “Idina, its been ten years, no, more than ten,” Kristin’s words stumbled out, “I can’t, I just - I’m sorry.” Kristin grabbed her bag and rushed from the room. “Kristin, wait!” Idina cried, flinging opening the dressing room door to chase after her, but Kristin had long disappeared down the corridor. Idina stumbled back into the room, tears blurring her eyes. _You screwed up again,_ she scolded herself, _why did you have to kiss her? Why did you say that? Oh, God._ She reached for her phone. _I’m sorry,_ she texted _. Forgive me._ She hit the send button, and prayed for a reply.


	2. Ends and Beginnings

Kristin has mastered the art of smiling even as her heart breaks. She has gotten better at it through the years, gotten better at pushing her emotions away and locking them behind a door, and if she smiles harder, it’s easier to believe that she is really, truly happy. She slips into her house and into her bed, and if she has to swallow a few tablets of Ambien before daring to close her eyes, she writes it off as her usual bout of insomnia, and not her craving to slip into nothingness as quickly as possible. 

 

Her next few days are routine: sing, sleep, sing, and sleep again. She forgets that Idina ever came to watch the show, or at least, she convinces herself that she has forgotten. And that is enough, _it has to be enough._ For the most part, she just smiles through the day. It is easy to bury herself in the character she presents on stage, and she is relieved when she is pretending to be someone else, with someone else’s emotions. But sometimes, during intermission breaks or early mornings when she is alone and it is quiet, _too quiet,_ she struggles to marshall her emotions. A sudden pang of sadness will wash over her like a tidal wave, sweeping her out to sea, leaving her floundering as she struggles to get her bearings without drowning in sorrow. Old wounds, it seems, never heal quite right. 

 

The routine is broken unceremoniously late one night, when she crawls into her bed and flicks through her phone. Idina’s tweet tugs at something deep in her gut, and a knot forms at the base of her throat. A flurry of emotion bubbles to the surface, hot and fiery, leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste. There’s still anger, yes, but somewhere, beneath that, there’s a small part of her that is irrationally, stupidly, _happy._ All these years have passed, and Idina’s confessions still make her gut twist and her heart leap like a giddy child. Idina’s firm concession to have wanted, no, to _still_ want her, gnaws at a wound that should have long healed. The sting, however, is sharp and real. It’s not the concession that hurts, but more of the way Idina manages to sound nonchalantly casual. Never once had Idina endeavoured to answer a question on their relationship, yet she had readily answered this as if sex was the end-all. Kristin remembers summer nights, of tangled limbs and bare skin and hands clutching frantically at sheets to regain some semblance of control, of the heady mix of Idina’s scented shampoo and her perfume and the way her cries were swallowed by Idina’s lips, of lazy kisses with the morning sun filtering through the heavy hotel curtains. Desperate kisses in her dressing room, always wanting more, because she knew she would have to let go eventually, _permanently._ Whispers at night under the tangle of sheets, admissions of fears and stuttering confessions of love, both too afraid, yet recklessly bold. The way they knew each other through and through, and how Kristin would slip her hand into Idina’s, a silent reassurance, and how Idina’s fingers would curl around hers after a brief hesitation, warm and sure and strong. The way Idina would smile, a smile just for her, one that lit up her eyes and brought a faint blush to her cheeks, when Kristin grabbed her hand at curtain call. The way they took turns bringing each other coffee and how they read each other’s books during break times at rehearsals, Kristin’s head resting against Idina’s shoulder. It was never about the sex, but then Idina had never been very good at saying those words that mattered the most. _I love you. I loved you._ Kristin had murmured them against her lips, whispered them into the shell of her ear, and she had given them up in the end, not as a plea, but as an acceptance to the inevitable ending that was already set in stone before they had even begun. It was telling how they chose to play a game they knew they had already lost; wishing, always wishing that if they tried hard enough, it might end another way. It was never about the sex, but all about how she had found Idina in the sea of people, to love, even though she _shouldn’t_ have, and how Idina had loved her back, trusting in a relationship that _couldn’t_ be.

 

And those two words. _Of course._ Idina knew she would see this, would see them matter-of-factly splashed across the screen, as if Idina had never hesitated. But the hesitation, as ever, had always been present, in their touches, their carefully crafted words in interviews, the occasional text message. The hesitation had wove it’s way into their relationship from the very first day, plaguing Idina more acutely than Kristin, evidenced by halting kisses and unsure smiles. When Kristin had finally pulled away, the hesitation came back to haunt her with a vengeance, with every text message she wanted to send, and every phone call she wanted to make, as if hesitation was the only thing she could salvage from their attempt at love. Idina might be done with hesitating, with skirting questions, with hiding, but Kristin’s acutely aware of her own hesitation — afraid of what might escape should she choose once again to open the Pandora’s box that she had put away those years ago, with a promise never to open it.

 

After all this time, did she dare? This, she knew, was Idina’s way of telling Kristin that what she had said that day in the dressing room was true - that it perhaps had always had been through. Idina had always knew how to get Kristin to play right into her hands. She knew just how to get under her skin, how to unearth memories and feelings that Kristin had struggled to keep locked away, and this was a hell of a checkmate. The whispered lies to herself that she had tried to believe in, that _she didn’t care,_ that _the relationship was a thing of the past_ , were ripped away, revealing the naked truth that Kristin could not admit that day — that she still loves Idina, that she has always loved her, that she will always love her. 

 

Kristin’s fingers hover over the screen, hesitant, aching to type a reply. But doing so would be _giving in_ , and she stubbornly refuses, throwing the phone aside and burying her head into the pillow. She doesn't fall asleep until the grey light of morning filters in through the half-drawn curtains, and exhaustion draws her lids shut.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

She gives in finally, when she stumbles into the room and onto her bed, her head spinning and aching all at once. As she waits for the ringing in her ears to subside, she notices, not for the first time, how empty the bed feels. Bizarrely, a line from one of the musicals she did manages to make it pass the ringing in her ears, and into her pain-addled mind. _I’m not meant to live alone, turn this house into a home._ When a lump rises in her throat and tears spring to her eyes, she’s certain it’s from the pain, but not sure as to which. She types a reply to Idina’s tweet, and somehow manages to convince herself that it isn’t a surrender, though she’s not quite sure what else it could be. 

 

When Idina asks her out for dinner a few days later with a text message, tacking on a smiley face at the back for good measure, her mind tells her no, but her heart says yes. For once, she follows her heart. She has no idea how they end up in her apartment with Idina pinning her to the wall, their noses touching, their bodies flush against each other. Then Idina presses her lips gently to Kristin and all she can think of is the softness of Idina’s lips, and how this kiss feels different. They have both grown, through heartache and pain, through love and sorrow, and it shows. The kiss is not rushed or rough or full of passion, but steady, with a trace of sadness, and more than a trace of longing. Idina raises her hand to Kristin’s cheek instinctively, a gentle caress, and Kristin realises how dangerously easy it is to fall back into their old ways.

“ _Stay,”_ Kristin murmurs into Idina’s lips, against her better judgement, and Idina seals the promise with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about continuing this because the chenzel fandom has not near enough fluff fics and I could continue this with fluff. Knowing me though, it's probably gonna morph into angst so. Comments and feedback are more than welcome I really want to know what you guys think :)


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